


the quiet places we know so well

by astroturfwars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astroturfwars/pseuds/astroturfwars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi studies too hard, and Bokuto's of the opinion that a little bit of physical exertion does wonders for both the body and the mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the quiet places we know so well

Akaashi closes his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes and contemplates, briefly, the viability of tossing his phone in the trash and going off-grid entirely. It’s a nice pipedream, vaguely feasible for a solid sixty seconds, all of which Akaashi spends idly considering how nice it would be to come to the library and do an hour’s worth of uninterrupted work. He imagines he’d be incredibly productive were he not sidetracked every ten minutes by new and urgent messages from the chief source of all distraction in his life--who is currently sending him _yet another_ email.  


It’s ten o’clock at night. Akaashi’s got a well-planned study schedule set out for the next three hours, and nowhere in that schedule does he have room for entertaining the whims of his sort-of boyfriend--but from the looks of the message Akaashi’s reading, it would seem that Bokuto doesn’t plan on taking no for an answer.  


_be there in five!!!!!_  


Definitely not taking no for an answer. There’s nothing to be done for it now; Akaashi resigns himself to his fate, picks up his pen, and settles in to finish up a bit of studying before Bokuto finds him.

 ---

It’s hard _not_ to know when Bokuto’s around; he greets everyone he knows with equally loud enthusiasm, heralding his own arrival with a storm of noise and turned heads. Akaashi hears Bokuto long before he sees him--which is awful, really, considering he’s in one of the most secluded areas of the campus library’s quiet section--and feels somewhat obligated to go apologize for the disruption, given that Bokuto’s presence in the library is entirely his fault anyway. But, in that same shameful vein, he’d rather not make it public knowledge that he’s the reason why Bokuto is currently traipsing up and down rows of cubicles like he’s out for a casual stroll.  


Maybe Bokuto will miss him completely. Akaashi’s studying, head down, in a cubicle in the corner of the room, inconspicuous among a sea of students all doing the same. The odds of Bokuto actually finding him when Akaashi hadn’t even been forthcoming as to where exactly he was sitting--  


“Akaashi! I’ve been looking for you!”  


\--are, apparently, very high.  


“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says dryly, looks up at Bokuto’s near-blinding grin, and gives him a courtesy nod before turning back to his notes. His temples are sending him a message in morse code, telling him to admit defeat, to quit reading because the characters are all starting to blur together anyway. Akaashi won’t get any studying done if Bokuto’s around anyway, especially not when he’s got that look on his face that says he clearly has other plans.  


“Heeey, Akaashi,” Bokuto says, all cheer, clapping a heavy hand down on the juncture of Akaashi’s neck and shoulder. The pressure is more welcome than Akaashi’d like to say; three consecutive hours spent sitting in a wooden library chair would be enough to make anyone’s back ache. “Whatcha doin’?”  


Akaashi takes a long look at his desk--an open book, papers covered in rows of his neat handwriting, two empty cups of coffee--and turns slowly to look at Bokuto. “Studying. Like I told you.”  


Bokuto’s mouth ticks down into a frown, and he says, “C’mon, lighten up a little! How long’ve you been in here?”  


“A while,” Akaashi admits. He leans back in his chair and Bokuto’s thumb settles along the back of his neck, easy and familiar. It’s nice, this quiet display of affection, and it sits much better with Akaashi than any of Bokuto’s loud and unfortunately frequent declarations.  


What’s _really_ nice is the way Bokuto squeezes Akaashi’s shoulder, pressing the heel of his palm into muscles stiff from hours spent hunched over a desk. Akaashi knows he should shrug Bokuto off--but hell, he’s been studying all day, and he could do with a little contact. Bokuto seems to be able to tell because he moves to stand behind Akaashi and presses both thumbs into the muscles on either side of Akaashi’s spine, traces circles firm and slow into his skin until Akaashi lets his head fall forward. He can indulge in Bokuto’s touch for just a minute, and then he’ll shake Bokuto off and get back to work, because--despite current appearances--he _does_ have a fair amount of work to do, and he isn’t supposed to be taking a break for another half hour yet.  


_Just a minute_ lasts for about a minute, and then Bokuto’s pressing quiet, damp kisses to the ridges of Akaashi’s spine, mouthing at the shell of his ear, saying, “Can’t you get outta here already?”  


Bokuto closes his teeth quick and gentle on Akaashi’s earlobe and a small, involuntary noise pries itself from Akaashi’s mouth, leaving him startled and a little short of breath. That’s _embarrassing_ , and Akaashi’s cheeks go pink with it--pinker still when he turns to tell Bokuto that _no_ , he does _not_ have time to take a break, and finds himself maybe an inch from Bokuto’s face. He’s close enough that Akaashi can feel the warmth of his skin and the intervals of his breath, and he’s got a look on his face that Akaashi _really_ wishes he didn’t like.  


Some part of Akaashi’s brain, still clinging to rationality and orderly thought, directs him to shake his head in the negative. But Bokuto knows a chance when he sees it and he’s leaning in closer, drawing little patterns into the back of Akaashi’s neck with his thumbs. His voice goes low, eager and already assured, when he says, “You can take a break, though, right?”  


Akaashi takes a moment to deliberate. Odds are that whatever Bokuto’s got in mind won’t be quick; but he’s been texting Akaashi all day, and the only time they’d seen each other was for a late lunch, and if Akaashi keeps blowing him off there’s a very good chance Bokuto will sulk. And Bokuto had been pretty good about not badgering Akaashi today (read: he’d sent a minimal number of messages and hadn’t insisted on coming along when Akaashi’d gone to study), which probably merited a good turn--and, besides, whatever Bokuto wants to do will undoubtedly be good for both of them.  


“Ten minutes,” Akaashi says. He doesn’t need to look at Bokuto to know he’ll look like he’s just won an award. “And that’s it. No more.”  


“Gotcha!” Bokuto chirps, and he’s got his hand tight around Akaashi’s wrist to pull up him out of his chair before the word fades.  


Akaashi would roll his eyes if they weren’t aching. He registers dimly that it’s a good thing Bokuto’s forced him into a break; hours of sitting haven’t been kind, and this walk feels better than Akaashi would admit. He takes advantage of the opportunity to stretch and doesn’t miss the way Bokuto’s eyes land heavy on his stomach where his shirt hikes up, knows without looking that the pendulum swing of his hips, intended to loosen his back, serves only to make Bokuto walk faster.  


Bokuto bypasses the men’s restroom like he hadn’t even seen it, and Akaashi finds himself torn between resignation and begrudging anticipation as Bokuto tugs him towards the maze of shelves near the back of the library. _Definitely won’t be ten minutes_ , Akaashi thinks, but it’s not like he would’ve been able to say no anyway--Bokuto’s always been compelling in a way Akaashi never thinks to resist. Well-won trust, bemusing affection, and something inexplicably charismatic make Bokuto more charming than he has any right to be, and in turn draw Akaashi to him like pole north to south.  


Bokuto leads him along that way, by hand and by heart, throwing giddy little glances over his shoulder as he pulls Akaashi into the stacks. He stops too soon by the world maps two rows in and ducks in to kiss the quickening pulse at Akaashi’s temple. Akaashi turns away out of reflex and catches, out of the corner of his eye, the tail end of someone walking past the water fountain not thirty feet away.  


Akaashi rolls his eyes--clearly Bokuto doesn’t spend enough time in the library to know that his chosen location leaves their rendezvous clearly visible to anyone just so happening to walk past, though that’s no surprise--and takes one of Bokuto’s wandering hands in his.  


“You’re going to get us both caught,” Akaashi says, ignoring Bokuto’s subsequent whining, and turns on his heel to take them somewhere more suitable. He’s well acquainted with the inner workings of the library; he spends enough time looking for obscure books that he’s become familiar with the twists and turns and quiet parts of the stacks. That sort of knowledge comes in handy as he leads Bokuto back into the depths of the shelves.  


When Akaashi thinks about this sort of thing--which he tries not to do, because once his mind wanders into the gutter he’s rendered nonfunctional for at least half an hour afterwards--he imagines himself pressed up against shelving in the relative seclusion of the reference section. That’s where he goes now, tracking their progress by the increasing thickness of book spines as novels and biographies give way to encyclopedias. The noise from the outer reaches of the library fades until the loudest sounds are Bokuto’s weighty footsteps and his voice, half-laughing and half-impatient, telling Akaashi to _slow down already, nobody’s gonna hear us_ , and _where the hell are we going, anyway?_  


“Here,” Akaashi says, and stops under a flickering light that marks the halfway point of the encylopedia section. “This is fine.”  


Bokuto grins half-sly, takes Akaashi’s hands and settles them firmly on the cut of his waist, walks backwards until he knocks against the bookshelf. Something rattles rather threateningly and Akaashi looks upwards, hoping none of the books are falling because his reflexes are all but shot by now and Bokuto’s mood will _definitely_ be ruined by a dictionary to the skull.  


When Akaashi comes level all he sees is Bokuto, inches from his face, eyes on the tightly strung bow of his mouth. Akaashi’s breathing goes backwards as Bokuto leans into him, slides his hands slow up to Akaashi’s elbows, and presses his mouth to Akaashi’s jaw. Akaashi can feel Bokuto smiling there, the breadth of it radiating self-contentment against his skin.  


Akaashi lets that slide, focuses on the flex of muscle under his hands as Bokuto leans into him further still. He dips his head to kiss Akaashi properly--and he does kiss Akaashi properly, because Bokuto’s damn good at the things he puts his mind to doing.  


Bokuto kisses Akaashi with enthusiasm and something close to abandon, gets Akaashi’s bottom lip between his own and sucks at it until Akaashi yields a shaky breath and tightens his grip on Bokuto’s waist. That’s what Bokuto’s after: the _give_ , the slump of Akaashi’s shoulders as tension begins to dissipate from his frame, and when Akaashi finally relaxes Bokuto slips a pleased hum into his mouth on the tip of his tongue.  


Akaashi lets that go uncontested. His attention is devoted to the unhurried slide of Bokuto’s tongue against his own, to the hands slipping up under his shirt and settling on the prominence of his hipbones, to the swell of Bokuto’s cock pressing against his stomach. For all his initial reluctance, Akaashi isn’t far behind; his cock twitches in the crease of Bokuto’s thigh as Bokuto runs a hand up his side, lets his fingers dip into the brief valleys between Akaashi’s ribs, and drags the calloused pad of his thumb against Akaashi’s nipple. Bokuto’s other hand drops to the small of Akaashi’s back and lower still, the soft scrape of his fingernails sending shivers radiating upwards from the base of Akaashi’s spine, and Akaashi gives up pretending he doesn’t want, badly, to rub himself against Bokuto’s thigh. He does, slow like he’s not going a little weak in the knees from the friction, and it’s not enough but it’s still _good_ , still makes his heart beat double-time for a second or two, makes him want more.  


As though he can tell what Akaashi’s thinking, Bokuto pulls back, nosing briefly at the curve of Akaashi’s cheek, and murmurs, “You’ve got more than ten minutes, right?”  


His mouth is brushing against Akaashi’s every time his lips close on a consonant and his fingers are dipping beneath the waistband of Akaashi’s jeans and Akaashi _knows_ he shouldn’t be taking a break, really, but Bokuto’s making it seem like a good idea.  


Akaashi allows himself this momentary lapse in judgment, says, “Yes, I do,” and leans up to kiss Bokuto again.  


This time it’s not as slow, not as careful, because Akaashi’s got more than ten minutes but he doesn’t have forever; this time Akaashi bites down on Bokuto’s bottom lip just hard enough to hurt. Bokuto responds with a vaguely irritated growl, hitches Akaashi closer with one hand, slips the other between them and fumbles with the clasp of Akaashi’s belt like Akaashi’d thought he would.  


The click of metal rings loud down the aisle, but Akaashi tells himself not to mind. He’s got other things to focus on right now--like the way Bokuto’s fumbling with the button of his jeans, the way he yanks Akaashi’s zipper down like he’s got a personal vendetta, the way pressure streaks heavy and fleeting down the length of Akaashi’s cock through the starched fabric of his boxers. One layer down means everything feels sharper, means Akaashi’s mouth goes slack around a curse when Bokuto pulls him close and gets his thigh between Akaashi’s legs. He presses upwards and Akaashi lets out a shaky breath, clutches at the front of Bokuto’s hoodie and keeps himself steady there, catching his breath, until Bokuto snaps the waistband of Akaashi’s boxers away from his skin and palms his cock.  


Akaashi isn’t used to this yet. He still full-body shivers when Bokuto’s fingers close around him, still digs his teeth into his lip as Bokuto thumbs the head of his cock, still can’t help the gasp he muffles into dark fabric as his hips twitch forward into the friction offered by Bokuto’s hand. The strength of Bokuto’s grip and the callouses on his palms, the way he presses his thumb into the soft underside of Akaashi’s jaw and angles his face upwards to kiss him; these things are still new, and they draw hoarse, quiet noises from Akaashi’s throat.  


Bokuto chuckles, self-satisfied, against Akaashi’s cheek, and the sound of it touches on Akaashi’s nerves despite present distraction. Experience dictates that Bokuto tends to get cocky when he feels like he’s worked Akaashi over well, and while Akaashi’s feeling generous, he’s not gracious enough to put up with any more crowing than absolutely necessary. And if that means putting in a little bit of effort--well, _someone_ has to keep Bokuto’s head on straight.  


Bokuto’s not wearing boxers (no surprise there), and that makes it easy for Akaashi to tug the waistband of his sweats down and get his hand on Bokuto’s cock, to grip him firm the way Akaashi knows he likes it. The chuckling bottoms out into a groan, low-throated and damp against Akaashi’s ear, and Akaashi has half a second to think _there, that’s better_ , before Bokuto presses a wet kiss to the hinge of Akaashi’s jaw and does something with his wrist that makes Akaashi stop thinking altogether.  


Everything narrows down to the drag of Bokuto’s palm down the length of Akaashi’s cock, to the fingers fitted firm to the curve of his ass--to Bokuto himself, the choppy rhythm of his breathing and the sound of his voice, a little too loud, mouth right up against Akaashi’s ear, saying--  


“Akaashi--hey, Akaashi, let me--”  


“ _What_ ,” Akaashi hisses, sharp, somewhat unsurprised. Bokuto’s got to be the only person in the world who could find a way to get distracted in the middle of what Akaashi’s pretty sure, judging by the unevenness of Bokuto’s breath and the tenseness in his thighs, is a fairly nice handjob.  


Bokuto kisses the corner of Akaashi’s frown until the line of his mouth smoothes out and says, “C’mon, lighten up! You’re gonna love it.”  


A sigh stops just short of Akaashi’s lips. “...go ahead, then.”  


“That’s more like it,” Bokuto hums, presses a smug smile into Akaashi’s cheek just in time to miss a rather well-timed eye roll, and nudges his thumb between his own cock and Akaashi’s hand. Akaashi blinks, opens his mouth to ask what Bokuto’s doing and chokes on a gasp because okay, yeah, he does like it, likes the feeling of Bokuto’s cock pressed hard against his and the warmth of his hand wrapped tight around both of them, likes how Bokuto’s first stroke is firm and slow like he’s proving a point.  


There’s a noticeable hitch in Bokuto’s breath when he murmurs, “Told ya,” against the crook of Akaashi’s jaw, and _sure_ , there’s a touch of pride to it, but he’d been right, and Akaashi isn’t inclined to argue.  


“Yeah, you did,” Akaashi confirms instead, rises onto his toes to press closer, gets his arms around Bokuto’s neck. He’s not particularly interested in hearing Bokuto gloat, not when he could be using his mouth for better endeavors, like kissing Akaashi close to breathless. And Bokuto does that _very_ well; he coaxes hushed groans from Akaashi’s lips and replaces them with his own, maps out the inside of Akaashi’s mouth and leaves him on edge, thrilled and wanting.  


It’s probably a testament to how far gone Akaashi is that it doesn’t strike him as disgusting when Bokuto pauses briefly to make an odd face and spit into the palm of his hand. It’s good--great, even, because when he takes himself and Akaashi in hand again his stroke is smoother, faster, makes something go tight in the bottom of Akaashi’s stomach. The slick slide of Bokuto’s cock against his is heady and sweet and Akaashi presses into the friction, measured movements of his hips guiding the head of his cock through the tight circle of Bokuto’s fingers.  


Each new sensation makes shivers roll down Akaashi’s spine in small, insistent waves. Bokuto kisses what he can reach of Akaashi’s neck and leaves the skin stained pink in his wake, cups Akaashi’s ass more firmly to pull him closer still, though by now that seems impossible, and punctuates each downward stroke of his hand with a shaky groan. Heat rises in Akaashi’s blood like the swell of high tide, bursts like firecrackers prickling under his skin, builds up until Akaashi loses his breath and trembles under the touch of mouth and hands alike.  


When Akaashi comes it’s with a series of quiet noises that spill from his mouth and find a home in the dip of Bokuto’s collarbone, with a shudder that makes his thighs tremble and his toes curl in his sneakers. He comes _with_ Bokuto, whose hands are steady and solid on his skin, lips parted and pressed hard to Akaashi’s temple, and the matching ebb-and-flow of their breathing drowns out the drumroll beat of Akaashi’s heart.  


There’s a tenuous moment of quiet wherein Akaashi’s speeding pulse begins to slow, and he takes advantage of the momentary stillness to rest his forehead on Bokuto’s shoulder and collect himself. Bokuto, after a few long seconds, drops a kiss onto the crown of Akaashi’s head and leans back against the bookshelf, holding his dripping hand aloft, clearly pleased with himself, and says, “How’s _that_ for a study break?”  


Akaashi spares half a breath for a curt laugh. His skin is sweat-damp, his shirt is definitely going to stain, and he pretty much has no choice but to abandon studying and go home at this point. Despite all that, he’s in a good mood for the first time in hours--and, thankfully, so is Bokuto. That’s worth the distraction.  


“Good,” Akaashi says, between breaths and small kisses to what skin of Bokuto’s he can reach, “it was good,” and he means it.


End file.
